Not The Whip's Bleach Drabbles
by Not The Whip
Summary: A gathering of my Bleach drabbles. Characters, themes, and ratings vary and include het, yaoi, and gen pairings. See individual story notes for details.
1. Air

**Title:** Air  
**Rating:** PG  
**Pairing/Character/s:** Renji, Matsumoto, Hitsugaya, Orohime, Ikkaku, Yumichika, Rukia, Chad, Ichigo, Ichigo x ?  
**Warnings:** Ch. 195 of the manga, basically. Otherwise everyone hanging out like this wouldn't make sense, eh? Shonen-ai, too.  
**Summary:** Sometimes all you need is to get a bit of fresh air.  
**A/N:** Pointless fluff and OOCness! What can I say? I just really love this sorely-ignored pairing, is all.

They wouldn't shut up.

Yammering and babbling and making a damn fool of himself, Renji proved he could hold his liquor, but only in his mouth for a bit until it went straight to his brain. Matsumoto seemed no better, dragging Yumichika, Rukia, Inoue, and Ikkaku along for the ride.

At least Goat-Chin was out for the night with the girls, otherwise this would have been too much.

Ichigo huffed into his cup, his irritation echoed by Hitsugaya sitting next to him on the stairs. Chad, naturally, failed to comment.

Drinking, again. Like last Friday night. And the Saturday night after that. The way these guys acted, the threat of war and the end of civilization, the world, or at least something mildly interesting/important stood far and away.

It boggled his mind; Ichigo could hardly believe their stamina.

Or their ability to procure alcohol while masquerading as high school students.

Really, really old-looking high school students.

Standing, Ichigo bent backwards, his spine popping from bottom to top in a satisfyingly noisy fashion. No one paid him any mind as he headed out back; he needed some air. One could hardly breath with all the bull shit flying around in there.

After a few minutes of enjoying the stars and the stillness, Ichigo realized he wasn't alone. Pulling one hand from his pocket, he held it out for the other to take, their fingers slip-snuggling together, oh so quiet, all right and tight.

Ichigo realized, standing there silent and sure, that they had hardly any time for each other since their return from the Soul Society; what with everything that kept happening, he was amazed he even had time for himself. This moment, stolen so unashamedly, this was nice.

He tried to scowl as he broke the thick night-hush around them, but Ichigo couldn't help smiling anyways, just a little bit.

"Why the hell do they have to do this at my place?"

"Because," Chad answered, a tiny grin tinting his response.

Ichigo sighed, said nothing, and pulled himself closer to his boy. This was quite nice; maybe these weekend gatherings were good for something, after all.

-fin-


	2. Field Trip

**Title:** Field Trip  
**Rating: **PG for cheap shots  
**Characters:** Kenpahci, Yachiru, Ichigo, Keigo, Hitsugaya, the rest of the party-crashers in the most recent arc, although they're unnamed.  
**Warnings:** Ch. 195+  
**Summary:** What's in a name, anyways?  
**A/N:** Okay, so this is sort of set in the recent arc in a moment of peace of course but not really. Kenpachi and Yachiru aren't hanging out in the living world although it would thrill me to death if they were so I guess that makes this AU.

"Ken-chan! Ken-chan! What's that one called?"

Kenpachi scratched his chin, obviously trying to come up with a quick, satisfying answer without looking like he was trying to come up with a quick, satisfying answer. It would be his thirtieth save since the outing began and a record, for certain. Ichigo couldn't decide which was more spectacular, Kenpachi's quick thinking or Yachiru's blind acceptance of any lie the man happened to spit out.

"It's a sling-back humtpyhump," Kenpachi gravely announced, at last. The pink-haired back-leech cooed and ooed and aahed from her usual perch, straining this way and that to get a better look at the camel. The animal seemed significantly less impressed with the shinigami than they were with it; Ichigo snorted, agreeing with the camel.

"And that! What's that!" Yachiru squealed, pointing into the next pen.

"A razzle-dazzle fistybuns."

"What's it do, Ken-chan?"

Ichigo blinked, holding back an actual laugh. What does it do? He didn't think an aardvark did anything, besides eat, sleep, and procreate, of course. The awkward silence that rolled off Kenpachi, much like nervous sweat, showed that he didn't know the answer, either.

"It eats an' craps an' stuff," he answered at last, grumbling and growling all impatient-like. Ichigo had to bight down hard on his lip; the big guy was right, for once, and eloquent as usual.

"No, Ken-chan, no!" Yachiru whined, less than impressed. "What's it _do_?"

"Repeatin' tha' question don't change it none," he snarled, obviously tired of the incessant questions.

"Why?"

Glad to be quite a few paces behind the pair, Ichigo hung back with the others and out of the line of Yachiru's inquisitive fire. No day could have been more perfect for a trip to the zoo, a quiet respite in the middle of noisy times, and Ichigo decided to make the best of it. Which meant ignoring the eleventh division leaders, a concept that everyone in the group could easily understand, having experience with the unorthodox family unit.

Everyone except Keigo, unfortunately.

"Why doesn't he just read the signs if he doesn't know their names?" he asked Ichigo, unaware of the trouble his not-so-subtle volume could bring upon himself. A swift kick in the knee drew a yelp from his friend; Ichigo hoped that would be the only noise that followed. No need for bloodshed today.

It seemed that Keigo thought differently. Apparently unaware that the rest of the group had distanced themselves from him and Ichigo, hoping to escape the blood-spray zone, Keigo pressed the issue.

"What the hell man? What was that for?" he yelped, his voice climbing to that particular octave that irked Ichigo more than most anything.

"Shut up," Ichigo ground out quietly.

"Seriously though, man," Keigo continued to whine, "the names are right there and everything. Can't he read?"

Kicking higher and more central this time, Ichigo almost-winced at the half-squeak and following _thwump_. Keigo dropped hard and fast, clutching himself while moan-groaning long and loud. Ichigo ignored him as did the rest of their new "classmates." Hitsugaya's comment, something about "serving the moronic worm right," helped to lightened the mood and the tense moment passed.

Up ahead, Kenpachi smirked. It had been a long time since he'd seen a good, cheap crotch shot and the kid-idiot's whimpers were music to his ears. Kurosaki's form wasn't half bad, either.

A pleasant outing, indeed.

-fin-


	3. So

**Title:** So  
**Rating:** PG-15, mentionings of mature topics without getting too explicit  
**Pairing/Characters:** Chad/Ichigo  
**Warnings:** Chad's musings in Ch. 201, brief chatter about everything leading up to it... nothing too major. Yaoi, too.  
**Summary:** In the end, it all equals out.  
**A/N:** Did I mention I love this pairing? Any way I can get it?

So Ichigo can swing around a sword long as he is tall, plus some.

So Ichigo manages to beat shinigami captains that could squash him in a blink just by, well, blinking.

So Ichigo can save his family, his friends, the city, the Soul Society, and pretty much the entire free world, all while maintaining an impressive class ranking.

So few of them, if any, could begin to protect Ichigo in a fight and always end up endangering him with their lack of strength and skill.

So what?

Whenever Chad gets bogged down by such thoughts, he only has to remind himself of one fact: Ichigo bottoms every time. Practically begs for it, even. In fact he does beg for it, especially when Chad's doing that super-slow, super-sweet thing with his tongue in just the right spot.

The one spot that makes him scream and, of course, beg.

Ichigo was pretty good at begging too. High and breathy and desperate, with his face long-slack, his scowl long-gone, and his pride long-forgotten, he always asked for more in all the right half-words and whole-moans. So hot. So perfect. And Ichigo was perfect to Chad when he touched him, took him. All because it was Chad doing those things to him and no one else.

So Chad doesn't have that much to worry about, really.

-fin-


	4. Punctuation

**Title:** Punctuation  
**Author:** T.S. Jackal-Bright  
**Rating:** PG, probably. PG-13 if you're a squeamish boy.  
**Summary:** Even little Yachiru has to grow up some time.  
**A/N:** Is this too much? I never know.

He knew that smell anywhere.

Kenpachi sniffed and snuffed, like a huge hell-hound on the trail of something tasty. Frowning, turning his head from side to side at the dim meeting of two halls, he tried to figure out where it was coming from. It was fresh, that much he was certain, and in a matter of minutes he'd figure out what new wound produced said familiar scent.

It was really only a matter of time.

Still, it bothered him. Why the hell its copper-clear tang-smell wander-wafted around the Eleventh Division's headquarters hardly matter. The whole division tended to smell of it, to some degree, so that wasn't the real problem. It did piss him off, though. He thought he made it explicitly clear that any blood-letting on the division premises required his direct supervision; maybe in not so many fancy words, but the idea seemed well-conveyed and backed up with big, pointy teeth and a big, pointy sword.

_There._

Kenpachi stopped outside Yachiru's quarters, the door latched tight. He could smell it coming from in there. Where Kenpachi would once heedlessly barge in, he now hesitated, though.

More and more over the past century the girl had taken to locking herself up, spending hours alone or out and about without her Ken-chan's sturdy back underneath her, carrying her to wherever they both were headed. He even saw her hanging out with some of the other ranking females around the Soul Society. When he tried to approach her she frowned and turned her back; while the other women weren't looking she turned and made little shooing motions with hand.

It weirded him out a little.

And now this! Yachiru holed herself up, probably having a great time making some poor bugger-bastard creature-feature bleed without him. Whatever happened to the little girl who lit up like an explosion whenever he suggested they go out hunting together? He needed to get to the bottom of this, right this instant.

Roughly shoving the door open, Kenpachi found the room empty and yet another door between him, Yachiru, and blood. Ready to kick open the second door and bust into Yachiru's private bathroom locked behind it, he paused. Something Captain Uohana had said to him not long ago clawed its way to the surface of his consciousness. Something about women and cycles and men-station and the like.

And blood.

There was definitely something about blood. With diagrams.

Backing out of the room, as quiet and unimposing as he could possibly manage, Kenpachi left. Maybe this whole doing their own thing from time to time was okay, really.

Honestly, who needed _that _much together time anyways?

-fin-


	5. Meetings

**Title:** Meetings  
**Rating:** PG-13 language and Ikkaku's ignorance  
**Warnings:** pre-YAOI, cussing, violence, bigoted remarks that in no way reflect my own opinions, spoilerish for Ch. 206 but not really  
**Pairings/Characters:** Ikkaku, Yumichika  
**Summary:** Judge not lest ye be judged.  
**AN:** Just my musings of how Ikkaku and Yumichika meet. All I really know is that they're hanging out by the time Ikkaku gets his ass kicked by pre-shinigami!Kenpachi, so yeah. Just having some fun with 11th Division's longest-running couple. I might do more in this vein, I might not, I dunno.

* * *

The first time they met, Ikkaku tried to take him for all he was worth. Lying face down in the dirt of some rukongai roadway, Ikkaku oozed fake blood from fake wounds and patiently waited for the next bleeding-heart boy scout to come along. 

By all counts, it was a good grift.

Ikkaku's favorite, really. Simple, yet effective, two things Ikkaku excelled at.

It worked well enough solo, though much better with others despite diminished returns. Alone or with associates, on those rare occasions he found it necessary to hook in with some of the local punks, Ikkaku usually pulled in enough to cover lodging, food, and necessary expenses. The blood was his own recipe, a realistic yet cheaply-made mockery that was slow to dry, and stood out as one of Ikkaku's finer moments of inspiration. Quick on the draw and undefeated in a fair-enough fight, Ikkaku had just enough wits to pull this trick off and managed to consistently scrape his way through the afterlife depending solely on the kindness of weaker strangers.

Until Yumichika came along and fucked it all up.

That prissy-assed bastard.

Ikkaku had lain there, face down, for almost an hour with no takers, surreptitiously shifting his position to keep from going numb. The sun hung high in the air, stealing any shade he might have enjoyed while leisurely baking his skin. A couple flies showed interest in the congealing mess smeared and pooled around Ikkaku's crumpled form; he had to continually convince himself that, despite how annoying they were, the flies were good for the act.

When at long last he heard the slowing of footsteps, Ikkaku had to hold back his joy, listen, and wait; as risky as it was, Ikkaku had gotten used to the blind attack and trusting his ears to tell him when to go. The strides were either small or the steps quick and the body they carried hardly weighing a thing, this much he could hear. Alone, the mark slowed as he approached, stopping just out of range.

A shy guy, eh? Cautious little bugger.

Ikkaku tightened the fist seemingly pinned beneath himself around his dagger's handle and upped the ante. His breathing, already shallow, took on a labored, ragged, rasp that forced itself all watery and weak around a good, thick drool. The mark edged closer and Ikkaku could feel reprieve for his flesh where his body blocked out the sun.

Just a little closer, almost there...

Brilliant pain surprised Ikkaku as a well-aimed kick landed deep in his unprotected side. The sickening crunch informed Ikkaku that his ribs surrendered and his lungs shoved all the air they held out in mass exodus. Rolling to avoid the next blow, Ikkaku scrambled to the nearby brush and his hidden sword. He needed to keep this attacker at arm-and-blade's length and the dagger seemed too close, too dangerous. Smirking as his fingers found their prey and getting more than a little excited about the pain that pushed towards adrenaline-doused pleasure, Ikkaku whirled on his opponent.

And, making his first mistake, stopped dead on the spot.

The only thing Ikkaku loved more than a grift gone well was a good fight, but even he had some morals, however skewed they might have been.

First on the list: never hit a lady.

"Oi," Ikkaku snapped at the woman, "what the fuck do ya' think yer doin'!"

"It's not very polite to rob people, you know."

Ikkaku spat, shoved his dagger in his belt, and dropped his sword easily to his side. He eyed her warily and the woman eyed him back, expression uninterested and barely there under hooded lids. Standing as tall as her small frame allowed, she wore a mannish cut to her clothes and her poorly-cut hair pulled away from her face. Definitely not a working woman, Ikkaku figured, not with such baggy clothes, but obviously of a lower class. No woman with any reason to live traveled this far out without a escort of some sort.

Still a damn fine-looking lady, even if she was a real bitch.

Ikkaku spat again, this time at the woman's feet. Sure, he couldn't hit the scrawny, little chick but he sure as hell didn't have to show her any respect. She frowned at this gesture, sniffing oh-so-condescendingly, infuriating Ikkaku even more.

"Whatsit to you?" he growled, eyeing her while he prodded at his ribs, assessing the damage. "None of your godsdamned business, what I do."

"True. But you annoyed me."

"Annoyed you! You completely bat-shit, woman! You broke some of ma' ribs an'... Oi! Don't you walk away when I'm talkin' to you, you ugly-ass whore!"

Apparently tired of the conversation, the woman had the nerve to turn her back on Ikkaku and walk off, apparently tired of her impromptu bought of violence and the results there of. She waved her hand airily over her shoulder, brushing him off and forgetting him already.

But then Ikkaku had to go and call her ugly.

The woman stopped dead.

Before he could even block with his sheathed sword she buried her fist well into his cheek. Spinning from the blow's force, Ikkaku tried to steady himself and counter without striking out. Not fast enough. For the second time in five minutes he felt her heel slam into him; this time his lower back took the brunt of the blow and he toppled forward. Able to tuck his head in at the last second, Ikkaku rolled over and back on his feet, whirling around in time to rebuff her next attack with the scabbard but lost his dagger in the process. Sliding back the woman bent, found the knife in the dust, and without a breath or a blink, hurled it at Ikkaku; it struck and stuck in his thigh with sickening ease.

His ribs had something nasty to say about that last tumble but this new pain beat all. Real blood-blooms blossomed as crimson soaked into his clothing, dripped down his leg into the dust, and generally made a mess of things. Ikkaku's back found a tree's thick trunk to collide with and catch his falling body. He now hurt from top to bottom, broken and bleeding everywhere, and this crazy little cunt looked ready to kill him.

Ikkaku grinned, all teeth and love of violence.

Maybe he'd have to break his rules, just this once. Passing up a fight like this would practically be a sin. This girl knew how to handle herself and besides, she already had a handicap when considering his injuries; he blatantly ignored the fact that she had given herself her own advantage. Pulling the knife from his leg and unsheathing his sword, Ikkaku almost laughed as he lunged forward, making his first attack in the whole confrontation.

"You'd attack an unarmed man?" the woman scoffed, dodging easily. "I thought you were despicable but now I _know _you're evil."

"The only thing I'm attackin' is some idiot chick who thinks she can take me out 'cause I insulted her piss-poor 'ppearance."

"And your stupidity, does it know no bounds?"

"Th'hell that s'posed to mean?" he ground out, his frustration mounting as no blow found their target. Maybe his injuries were worse than he thought. It felt like molasses had swallowed his limbs and Ikkaku couldn't keep up with the quick-footed woman; as his vision began to dim he could hardly see her as well.

"I'm a _man_, you dim-witted, two-bit, petty thief."

"Sure as hell don't talk like one," huffed Ikkaku, his movements losing accuracy if not power; he took out a small shrubbery when the other dodged once more. "Too damn delicate in the face and shit. Too godsdamn flighty, too. Hold still, damn it!"

And now she... he was laughing at him! Finally looking interested in the fight, or at the very least the conversation, the other man's enjoyment pealed loudly in Ikkaku's already-ringing ears.

"Delicate! You think I'm beautiful, don't you? Admit it!"

Refusing to answer such a stupid question, Ikkaku lunged wildly at his opponent, who hardly seemed to oppose him anymore, the no-fun moron. Unfortunately, by that time Ikkaku had bled so much the road had turned to mud in places and he disastrously found his footing in the middle of one such muck-patch. Filth squelched around his knees as he went down, biting his cheek to hold back the pained scream he knew was coming.

It came anyways.

And then strong hands helped him, albeit roughly, over onto his back and into a better position.

They also became intimate with his thigh, pressing themselves over his wound, but Ikkaku couldn't be bothered with how close another man's hands were to his jewels, no matter how wrong an action.. Whether or not those hands intended to finish him soon, that he focused on; he rather hoped they would after his embarrassingly huge failure in judgement and skill.

"Jus'... Do it," Ikkaku ground out, trying to push the other away. "Kill me already!"

"Later, I promise," he smiled, pulling off his sash with one hand in order to tie it into a tourniquet around Ikkaku's thigh. There were those fingers again, too close for comfort.

Mustering his strength, Ikkaku shoved the man off of him and tried to pull himself up. Blood loss and fractured bits told him to stay down and he tottered a moment, considering their pleas, before steadying himself with his sword. The sheath lost somewhere nearby, Ikkaku had no choice but to bury the naked blade in the mud as he supported his weight on it's length. If the bit-... bastard wasn't going to off him then Ikkaku would i make /i him finish it.

"You have _got _to be kidding me," his opponent-turned-nurse sighed, the mirth leaking from his thin face.

"I ain't dead yet, am I? Then the fight ain't over, not 'til I'm dead or you."

"You want so badly to die," the other replied, "then I will just have to see what I can do."

Ikkaku readied himself as the other man took his fighting stance, watching his opponent's every move. He had one more pass left in him, maybe two but Ikkaku doubted it; he had to wait for the right moment. Surging forward, the stranger threw a wide right and Ikkaku rolled, raking his blade across the other's belly. Hope sparked within him only to be over-shadowed by the exploding pain in his jaw; Ikkaku only had a moment to be glad he didn't bite his tongue in half when a second blow followed and he blacked out completely.

Ikkaku couldn't tell whether he died again, but either way the pain disappeared.

And reappeared with gleeful vengeance when he awoke sometime later, laid up in a shitty inn under the care of the local medicine woman's too-ugly-to-marry-so-might-as-well-apprentice-her assistant.

The woman's overbearing attention, paired with incessant, unwanted thoughts about the stranger-bastard who left him alive and broken, made for a miserable week or recuperation. Not one to lie prone with his brain trying to hold a conversation with itself, Ikkaku slept his days away to avoid his own mutinous mind, as well as the obnoxious healer's prattlings. At night he tested himself, seeing how much closer he could get himself to the outhouse and how much further he could get away from bed pans.

Damn fool invention if you asked him. Downright foul.

With an almost-full moon in the sky and the ability to walk with only the slightest of limps, Ikkaku made his escape from on the seventh night. Having no intention of paying for his care, he founds his things in the room's small cupboard and, without a glance or a grain of guilt, snuck out of the inn.

Only with the fresher air of the open road in his lungs and the lights of the town lost behind ten bends did Ikkaku allow himself a laugh at the idiots he left behind. Reaching into his pack, he pulled out his pipe and tobacco tin to prepare a celebratory smoke.

"Mother-fucking, limp-wristed pile of shit!" Ikkaku shouted at his empty tobacco tin. Checking his wallet he found it in nearly the same condition, save for a neatly-folded note tucked in where money should have been. Ripping the piece of paper out, Ikkaku opened it with all the anger he could muster and struggled over the perfectly-written words in the dim moonlight.

_I knew that once you found out I graciously paid for your medical care you would want to bestow upon me a small token of your gratitude. Considering that you were unconscious upon my exit, I helped myself to what only seemed fair. Thank you so much for your generosity!_

_Until we meet again,_

_Yumichika Ayasegawa_

_P.S. - Please take care. Your life is mine and I so hate sharing with others! 3_

Grumbling and growling Ikkaku crush the note in his fist. Hurling it into the dark woods around him, he felt no better for taking his rage out on the bit of paper and ink. Ikkaku couldn't wait until he came to the next town; he'd find the seediest bar, get real drunk, beat up the biggest guy there, and run out on his tab. As soon as he got that out of the way, _then _he'd start searching.

Yumichika, huh?

That pretty little bitch didn't have a prayer.

-fin-


	6. Snow

**Title:** Snow  
**Rating:** PG-13  
**Warnings:** kissing, cussing, current with manga time line Ch. 195, probably OOCness, and definately WAFF, galore  
**Pairings/Characters:** Hitsu x Matsu, Ikkaku, Orihime  
**Summary:** Only snow can erase the world's worry-lines so well.  
**AN post-dated 2/14/06:** Happy V-Day all! In celebration of the day I wrote this fluffy-ass fic. Now I'm going to go gather all my single friends and we're going to drink ourselves silly tonight. Nothin' says lovin' like chocolatinis, karaoke, and commiserating! Also, I have no idea if it snows in Karakura and it looks pretty warm in the current manga arc right now so this doesn't exactly fit in the canon, but please roll with it. And this is sorely under-edited. Sorry and thanks!

* * *

Cold wind cut through the borrowed coat, forcing him to pull it tighter around his small frame. Shivering, he stomped through the white mess, intent on not speaking to anyone. Hitsugaya just knew this day would only get worse and he didn't need to add to his problems by suffering through moronic conversations with complete imbeciles. 

Ice and snow rolled in heady and thick yesterday evening, forcing Hitsugaya to take refuge in Inoue's small apartment. Already annoyed that he had to burden her with his presence when she obviously had little room or food to spare, he tried to avoid his guilt and the women by falling asleep as fast as possible. It didn't work; the girls kept him up all night with their chitter-chatter-natterings and he had no escape, trapped by the inclement weather. Hitsugaya could feel the lack of sleep and the stress of the past few days grinding harsh against his already frayed nerves.

Morning brought with it a pristine world, hidden under just enough snow to make the walk to school troublesome but not impossible enough to call off classes. It also found him lacking human outerwear and once more he had to depend upon the young girl's kindness.

The old, wool pea coat Inoue lent him was still in good condition, well-taken care of by its owner. It had all its buttons, a thick, intact lining, and sleeves long enough to hide his bare hands. All in all a fine enough coat except for one thing.

The color.

"I think taichou looks exceedingly handsome in pink," Matsumoto purred into his ear as they paused at the stop light. Cheeks already raw from the wind, Hitsugaya's blush hid itself behind the convenient cover; he could feel her breasts resting on his shoulders, pressing against the back of his head, too warm and too close. Like usual.

Hitsugaya wanted to curse Earth's fickle weather with all the fury his small frame could hold, shout the foulest words he knew to the white-heavy heavens, but every time he opened his mouth snow got in.

"Oi, Hitsugaya-taichou, you're lookin' a bit cold there. Aren't ya' supposed to be the master of th' best fuckin' ice sword this _and _that side of th' Society?"

Growling at Ikkaku's insolence, what _did _Zaraki teach his men if he didn't teach them respect for their betters? Hitsugaya ground out his reply, clenching his teeth to keep them from chattering as he spoke.

"It's like how you can't smell your own horrendous body odor. You've grown accustomed to the fowlness emanating from your disgusting self but you can smell Matsumoto's alien stench quite easily."

"Hey," Rangiku exclaimed, hands on her hips and a pout on her lips, "I've only said nice things to you today, taichou. Leave me out of this."

"You're all morons," he grumbled, crossing the street before the light changed, just daring a car to come along and end it all for him. He couldn't stand these idiots any more. He just couldn't do it.

Granted, Hitsugaya couldn't blame his annoyance entirely on the others. It wasn't their fault it snowed or that he had to wear a girl's pink pea coat. It also wasn't their fault that they were all, himself included, well out of their league here. Although the arrancars seemed to have fallen back for now, it was only a matter of time. As the highest ranking shinigami in their motley group, he found himself responsible not only for keeping everyone alive but, at the same time, figuring out what the hell Aizen has planned for the Soul Society, Earth, and Kurosaki Ichigo.

Oh yeah.

Good times.

The best.

"You assholes go on without us," he heard Matsumoto holler behind him, "we'll catch up. Taichou and I have some important business to discuss without you yahoos hanging around and fouling up the air."

With an collective, indifferent response the rest of their group continued on their way, the still-falling snow swallowing them up as they disappeared down the block. Hitsugaya tried to follow, not really wanting to know what his fukutaichou had in mind, but stopped at the gentle touch of her hand on his shoulder. Her glove-clad fingers were a pleasant change from her breasts and he figured he should return the favor by at least half-listening to what she had to say.

"Well, what is it Matsumoto?"

She glanced around, making sure the others were out of sight before leaning in close, her breath visible puffs of warmth against his cheeks.

"No one's around, taichou. You can drop the act and let me know what's bothering you."

"Nothing I haven't spoken about with you before," he snorted, pulling away and missing Matsumoto's warmth the instant he did. Damn, it felt like it was getting even colder.

"Just the mission? That's it?" she asked, her fine eyebrows arching high and hiding beneath her knit cap.

"Isn't that enough?" he snapped back. "You needn't worry yourself too much Matsumoto, it'll give you wrinkles. Can you afford any more at this point?"

Hitsugaya attempted once more to walk away but this time he felt the brush of a bitter laugh, lighter but more insistent than her hand moments before. Sighing, he scowled as nastily as he could at her; this _really _was the last thing he needed today and Hitsugaya would be damned if he didn't let her know that.

"So young yet so grown up, taichou. You're already a stubborn, silent, stupid man who refuses to let anyone even _think _about asking after his health. You keep everyone too far away from you and you'll get into trouble when you need someone quick. Hell, I can't even see you any more Toushirou..."

"That's Hitsugaya-_taichou _and you know it," he interrupted loudly, stepping up and as much into her face as he could, his reiatsu flaring just enough to punctuate his point. If he thought it would intimidate her, Hitsugaya was terribly, horribly wrong.

"...and it's no wonder I care about you," she continued, ranting around his objections. "You're just my type: a selfish, egotistical, secretive prig! Why don't you just run off to Aizen too; bet he'd just love to get his hands on that tight little ass of yours, _taichou_."

And then she grabbed him. He certainly wasn't expecting that.

Matsumoto hoisted him up by his pink coat lapels, yanking Hitsugaya out of his "attempted-menace" stance and up into a brand-new, awkward "barely-on-the-ground-and-kissing-my-fukutaichou" position. Hard, full of anger and heat, the kiss swallowed his arguments, his thoughts, and his tongue, in that order. Neither one of them closed their eyes and he could see so much annoyance and hurt in Matsumoto's should he think of her as Rangiku now, knowing what she tasted like? own gaze, defying him to pull away, to protest.

For once, he didn't.

And then it was over and he could taste snow and toothpaste and mint chapstick, all leaving him so damn cold that he'd give anything to have her warmth back against him, in him, around him.

So he kissed _her _this time.

Just as furious, just as perfect in its utter imperfection, Hitsugaya strained up to bring Matsumoto down to him. He felt her soft hair and the scratchy wool of her hat, despite the numbness in his fingers, smelled her perfume and the lingering scent of Inoue's attempt at breakfast, and for once didn't mind the press of her breasts against his chest.

When they finally parted she remained stooped over and he laid his cheek on hers, unable to look at her but unwilling to pull away just yet.

"Don't you _ever _compare me to Gin again, Matsumoto Rangiku," Hitsugaya almost-whispered, his voice rough and muffled by the snow blanketing everything. He felt giddy, different, and couldn't stop the words falling from his teeth and tongue to land in Matsumoto's ear. "Who stayed, huh? Who the hell stayed and fought and followed you here on this suicidal mission and _kissed _you despite the fact that you're my fukutaichou, one of my closest friends, and way too tall for me? I am _nothing _like that traitor and I never will be like him. You understand that?"

"I understand that you kissed me second, taichou," she laughed, her mirth ruffling his hair and tickling his ear. "You wouldn't have thought to do it on your own, I'm sure."

Matsumoto tightened her grip on him when he stepped back, holding him close.

"I also understand very well that you are you and no one else. I stepped out of line and I'm sorry."

"Well then, alright," he grumbled at her soft, low tone, unsure where to go from here. "Apology accepted. And I apologize as well. I can only do the best that I can, so please forgive me my shortcomings."

"Don't worry, taichou, you'll have a growth spurt soon enough. Until then we'll get you a kissing stool."

"I didn't mean it that way..."

Rangiku laugh again as she straightened, her hand squeezing his before walking on once more. He could only trail behind her and try to convince of his earnestness, that he was serious in his remorse and that his intentions towards her, while still unclear, were of only the purest degree. Everything he said she spun into a joke and although it infuriated him like usual, this routine, this normalcy after the line had been stomped out in the crossing, meant so much to him.

Perhaps it could work out, in the end.

Spring has to come sometime.

-fin-


	7. Language

**Title:** Language  
**Characters:** Zaraki Kenpachi, Kusajishi Yachiru, Matsumoto Rangiku  
**Rating: **PG-13 for minor foul-mouthery  
**Summary:** Pride is often misplaced in the Kenpachi/Kusajishi household.  
**AN:** I can still remember the first talk i.e.: ass-whuppin' my mother gave me for cussing in front of her. Fuckin' changed my goddamn life.

* * *

"Leggo of my hair! Ya' gotta go to your meetin' now and that's all there is to it!" 

"But Ken-chan, I don't wanna! It's boring and Nanao-Glasses always shushes me. She's so rude! She even took my crayons away the other day, said I needed to grow up an' pay attention!"

"Well," Kenpachi balked, pausing in his attempts to pry a resisting Yachiru from his head, "why didn't ya' fight back?"

"'Cause Abarai-chan beat me to it, the meanie. He was all like 'Blah blah blah not cool, blah blah blah don't be a bitch.' You should have seen Nanao-Glasses's face when he called her that!"

"Ya' shouldn't say that word either," Kenpachi reprimanded half-heartedly.

Honestly, he really didn't really care if she cursed or not. Kenpachi actually prided himself on her linguistic skills; so young and the girl could cuss a good four, five minutes without repeating herself. Apparently he was the only one. According to the countless letters from Soul Society's Social Services, the rest of the community seemed less than impressed by Yachiru's advanced verbosity.

They also didn't take too kindly to, in their words, "a psychopathic, murdering monster trying to raise a young, delicate flower of a girl," but it really wasn't up to Kenpachi who took care of Yachiru; if he tried to get rid of her she'd always find her way back. Despite her terrible sense of direction.

As for their interpretation of his character, Kenpachi couldn't argue. He actually took some pride in the fact that those pansy-assed, worker-drone wimps trembled when attempting to write their letters of complaints to the fearsome Kenpachi Zaraki. He could tell from the way the writing shook and shivered all over the page that even indirect contact scared the shit out of them. A pack of nosy idiots, the whole lot of them, but at least they knew their place somewhat. Still, thinking that Yachiru was a pretty little flower?

Yeah right.

More like poison ivy, the way she could make you itch and twitch and ooze.

"Why can't I say 'bitch,' Ken-chan? You say it all the time," the toxic vine argued.

The argument had grown stale and Kenpachi wanted her to just shut up; they were right in front of the meeting hall and the other fukutaichous had begun to drift in for their weekly meeting. Yachiru's loud defiance made him look bad in front of the other officers.

Not like he cared, or anything. It was just that if people knew he couldn't keep a little girl in line, how the hell could he expect anyone to respect his authority?

"It ain't nice to womenfolk," he floundered, trying to explain to her just why "bitch" was a bad word, a fuzzy topic to him as it were, "or menfolk when you're sayin' they're acting all woman-like. You can use it when you're talkin' about a girl-dog though, that's alright; it ain't like they're gonna be offended."

Yachiru thought it over, her head tilted to the side and her tiny brows trying to knit together. Kenpachi took advantage of the unresisting silence and pulled her off his shoulders, his big hand holding on to the nape of her uniform like an aforementioned bitch carrying her pup, minus the teeth. Searching frantically for an easy mark, Kenpachi whipped his massive head around, not listening to a word Yachiru was babbling.

Aha! Open arms at two o'clock.

Matsumoto-fukutaichou suddenly found herself with an armful of Kusajishi-fukutaichou and a view of Kenpachi-taichou's retreating back; although unusual, it didn't disturb her too much to carry the Eleventh division's fukutaichou into the meeting. These things happened when the Soul Society big-wigs named Kenpachi-taichou's demon pseudo-spawn his second in command. Hefting the girl's weight onto her hip, they entered the hall.

"Hey Big Boobies," the girl asked, turning her wide eyes up to look directly at the woman with purest expression of childlike innocence, "do you know why I can't say 'bitch?' Ken-chan's answer didn't make no sense."

"Didn't make _any _sense, honey," the other vice-captain corrected, avoiding the question.

"But why?" Yachiru persisted.

"Mark that down as 'because Ken-chan told you so' and leave it at that."

"That's the fuckin' shittiest reason _ever_," the girl pouted.

"That it is," Matsumoto laughed. "That it is."

-fin-


	8. Lessons

**Title:** Lessons  
**Rating:** PG-7 Err... One or two cuss words and mentions of animal cruelty, but not really.  
**Characters:** Zaraki Kenpachi, Kusajishi Yachiru, Yumichika Ayasegawa, Madarame Ikkaku**  
Summary:** Yachiru's one smart cookie  
**AN:** It's a pre-shinigami tale with no major spoilers, just that Kenpachi kicked Ikkaku's ass back in the day, while Yumichika and Yachiru watched on Ch. 206 of the manga. Whether or not the boys followed along after the beating is totally my own supposition about the situation.

* * *

"So Yachiru, what's something... green?" 

"Grass!"

"And something... blue?"

"Th' sky!"

The sweltering summer heat pressed down on Kenpachi as he plodded along the dirt road, it's surface dry from the drought and sticking to his sweat-slick face with every heavy step. Yachiru's hot weight on his shoulders didn't help, but if he was going to worry about a little stink then he might as well cut his belly right then an there. At least he had Yumichika to keep her distracted, so she didn't complain too much.

"Name something pink, runt," Ikkaku threw in, obviously more interested in the lesson than he pretended to be.

"Easy," the girl squeal, pointing to her head, "m' hair!"

"And something black?" Yumichika asked this time.

"Ken-chan's hair!" Yachiru laughed, tugging on the limp mess in front of her. Kenpachi growled and swatted at her half-heartedly, ignoring her giggles as she dodged easily. The lesson continued on, heedless of the interruption.

"What is something yellow?"

"Th' sun!"

Having those two twits follow them around ended up being worthwhile, after all. He couldn't stand Ikkaku or Yumichika in the least when they first started trailing after them, especially after the bald bastard's wimpy pleas to end his life, not taking his beating like a man and all. To top it off, the guy had some pretty, little bitch-boy following him like a lost puppy dog or something.

Disgraceful.

At least Puppy-Boy was bright; he seemed to take Yachiru's education upon himself, which was a good thing, considering Kenpachi's own limited intelligence. They were also good at getting money, food, lodging, alcohol, whatever the group needed as they wandered around; the two extra mouths could feed themselves, thank the gods. The brat liked those two, too, so it wasn't a complete waste.

That whole head-gnawing thing that Yachiru and Ikkaku got into from time to time i was /i pretty entertaining, as well.

"And something white?"

"A bunny!"

Kenpachi wondered if she thought of the rabbit they caught the other week when she answered that question. It didn't stay white for long, not without it's fur. A necessary skinning, of course; you can't eat the critter with it's clothes on, now could you?

"An' somethin' red?"

"Bunny insides!"

Yup, she did. Kenpachi couldn't help but chuckle, a low rumble that made his shoulders and his parasite-girl riding them shake along with his mirth.

"Why's Ken-chan laughing?" Yachiru asked, her face popping upside-down in front of his.

"Nothing," he grinned, all sharp teeth and pride in his... whatever the hell the girl was to him, "jus' thinkin' about how smart you're gettin'."

"Wah! Ken-chan thinks I'm smart! Wah!"

The girl squeezed him tight around the neck and slid back to her safe place between his shoulder blades, excitedly pointing out to the other two how proud her Ken-chan was of her. Yumichika laughed while Ikkaku grumbled something about having heard the bastard himself as they walked on along their way.

Oddly content with the lively conversation buzzing around him, despite how quiet his life had been outside of battle before the hanger-ons appeared, Kenpachi settled into an easier pace. They'd get to the next village soon enough and he didn't want to wear out the twits. If they got too tired, they'd stop talking, and then he'd have to entertain the brat himself. That just wouldn't do at all.

The girl needed all the educating she could get, if she was going to be strong enough to make in this afterlife.

And she sure as hell wasn't getting any book-smarts from him.

-fin-


	9. Fifty

**Title:** The Long and Short of It  
**Rating:** G to R For Cussing and Adult Situations  
**Warnings:** Smatterings of AUness, OOCness, silliness, fluff, grammar and semi-colon abuse, vague references to the current manga arc (Ch. 200 +), fowl language, and the sweet lovin'.  
**Characters:** Hitsugaya Toushirou x Matsumoto Rangiku  
**Summary:** 50 One-Liners about Hitsugaya Toushirou and Matsumoto Rangiku  
**AN:** Coherency? We don't need no stinking coherency! Just random HitsuMatsu one-line-luv-luv times 50. Not exactly a drabble, I know, but please forgive me.

* * *

**#01 - Walking**  
It took him some time, but Hitsugaya finally managed to master walking at a normal, sedate pace while Matsumoto found new and interesting ways to subtly violate his body. 

**#02 - Waltz**  
"I think waltzing will have to wait till you've grown into yourself a little more," Rangiku sighed, tenderly massaging her bruised toes while Toushirou silently apologized for his painful avoidance tactic.

**#03 - Wishes**  
When Rangiku expressed her desire to take her captain out for multiple, heavily-intoxicating drinks, he responded in a less-than-mature fashion, spitting out a particularly crude phrase about wishing in one hand and shitting in the other; sighing, Ragiku returned to her paperwork, a week late and no where near finished.

**#04 - Wonder**  
"With a costume like that," Matsumoto pointed out to a less-than-interested Hitsugaya, referring to some of Orihime's old American comics, "what's left to wonder about?"

**#05 - Worry**  
Toushirou worries that one of these's days Rangiku will bean herself with her own breasts if she doesn't slow down a bit; considering how amazing it feels when she takes him hard and fast, riding oh-so-high above him and moaning his name, Toushirou has no intentions of ever sharing this particular concern.

**#06 - Whimsy**  
Matsumoto's sense of whimsy eagerly sought out trouble, and Hitsugaya knew, inevitably, he'd be dragged along to wherever it wished to strike next.

**#07 - Waste/Wasteland**  
"I don't get it," Rangiku whined at the book, her complaints loud enough to wake her sleeping bedfellow; Toushirou snorted and rolled over, regretting ever recommending T.S. Eliot to the woman.

**#08 - Whiskey and rum**  
He was cheap whiskey: harsh and growling yet warm and heady all the way down her throat; she, on the other hand, was fine rum: a liquor meant for colorful drinks with little umbrellas resting on their lips, deceptive delights that helped inebriation catch him unawares.

**#09 - War**  
"I still don't see how you won," Hitsugaya grumbled as Matsumoto shuffled the deck for another round, humming to herself in a satisfied sort of way.

**#10 - Wedding**  
It was the third wedding they attended that month the seventh that year and it was only May when the moment Rangiku feared and desired most finally arrived: while watching Ichigo and Orihime enjoy their first dance together Toushirou poked her arm to get her attention, leaned in close, and asked in hushed tones why the hell hadn't _they _gotten married yet.

**#11 - Birthday**  
Even after she explained to Hitsugaya about a dead American actress and her dead presidential lover, he couldn't help but point out that the song "Happy Birthday Mr. Taichou" was both superfluous and grammatically implausible; such inane snarkiness proved that Hitsugaya, like usual, missed the whole point of his vice-captain dressing up all sexy-like and giving him a lap song-and-dance on his special day.

**#12 - Blessing**  
A blessing from the heavens arrived at long last: Hitsugaya finally grew a good foot or so, closing the gap between their lips.

**#13 - Bias**  
Trying to reason with Matsumoto when she made up her mind was like trying to sew a bias-cut garment; at least, it would be if Hitsugaya knew a damn thing about sewing.

**#14 - Burning**  
The first night after they moved in together, Toushirou learned that not even Rangiku burning their dinner and some of his hair could stop him from taking her, right there on the kitchen floor, while they waited for a new meal to be delivered.

**#15 - Breathing**  
Rangiku had all but forgotten what breathing felt like until the first time she and Toushirou came, her release following his all slick and sweet and _wow_; she remembered then, inhaling all of Toushirou she could draw and holding him in until she thought she would burst.

**#16 - Breaking**  
A loud _crack _and a painful tumble to the ground proved that the heavy desk in Hitsugaya's office wasn't above breaking, especially in the face of rather vigorous 10th Division captain-sex.

**#17 - Belief**  
Although Hitsugaya rarely doubted himself or his abilities, he couldn't how much stronger he felt when Matsumoto voice her belief in him through her words, her actions, her pride, and her love.

**#18 - Balloon**  
The first but sadly not the last time Hitsugaya had an excessive amount of liquor resulted in a terrible impersonation of his vice captain that involved the division mop, two over-inflated party decorations, and three weeks sleeping on the couch.

**#19 - Balcony**  
Rangiku elbowed her captain hard in the ribs, waking him from his impromptu nap; when he loudly insisted upon a reason for her violence, earning a few rude _shh_s from the other theater-goers, she informed him his snoring was ruining the infamous balcony scene.

**#20 - Bane**  
How could one set of breasts be both the bane and the betterment of his existence?

**#21 - Quiet**  
It surprised him to find out how quiet Rangiku was in bed, and just how much he wasn't.

**#22 - Quirks**  
They each had their quirks - Rangiku always said the same toast before the first, third, and fifth drink of the evening and Toushirou refused to pick up any coin that faced tail's-up.

**#23 - Question**  
Some of Rangiku's questions were easy for Toushirou to answer, like _does this show too much cleavage_ or _do you want to stay over tonight_ (the answer tended to be yes;) others, like _do you love me _or _will you marry me_, he felt were such no-brainers that Rangiku didn't even need to ask.

**#24 - Quarrel**  
Hitsugaya loved Matsumoto's unorthodox method of ending quarrels and waited eagerly for the moment when she would lose her patience, grab him by the hair, and bury his face between her breasts; in fact, Hitsugaya sometimes instigated petty arguments just for the sessation smother, as well as the terrific make-up sex that usually followed.

**#25 - Quitting**  
When Matsumoto insisted that she would go dry for a month Hitsugaya supported her whole-heartedly, if only for their paperwork's sake; a frisky drunk, Matsumoto made it impossible for him to finish anything when she partook of the sake and snogging during work hours.

**#26 - Jump**  
Hitsugaya hated horror films as much as Matsumoto loved them, but who could blame her for enjoying a lapful of frightened taichou?

**#27 - Jester**  
It stuck with him for over a week, an odd dream about Matsumoto dressed as a sexy jester and telling dirty jokes, before Hitsugaya gave in and went in search of such an outfit, proclaiming that the woman would just have to deal with his kinks.

**#28 - Jousting**  
"What is this ridiculous sport," Hitsugaya shouted to Matsumoto over the audience's cheers, "and who the hell decided we should eat at 'Yea Olde Medieval Times?'"

**#29 - Jewel**  
When it came time to pick out the ring, Rangiku insisted that he get her the biggest, shiniest, most expensive diamond Toushirou could find; the elegant, delicately-etched, and rather jewel-less piece he ended up giving her was exactly what Rangiku wanted, given that she knew exactly how to work her man.

**#30 - Just**  
All the office-snogging and late-night rendevous just weren't enough for the pair, so three months after becoming "intimate" Hitsugaya insisted that it would be much more efficient and convenient if Matsumoto just moved in with him; Matsumoto couldn't agree more.

**#31 - Smirk**  
Rangiku took pride in the fact that she, and only she, knew the taste if Toushirou's smirk.

**#32 - Sorrow**  
When Hinamori tried to kill him, he forgave his old friend easily, but when Gin graced Matsumoto with her sorrows, Hitsugaya could only swear revenge.

**#33 - Stupidity**  
Despite Matsumoto's almost disturbing infatuation with the game, Hitsugaya found "Katamari Damacy" to be the poster child for stupidity.

**#34 - Serenade**  
Evening in their division meant Hitsugaya sitting quietly outside the bath, waiting for his turn and listening while Matsumoto sang softly to herself, accompanied by the gentle lapping of water against the walls of the tub and the buzz-hum of cicadas lingering outside the open windows.

**#35 - Sarcasm**  
Yes, Hitsugaya had the snark, but he could never match the genius that was Matsumoto's sarcasm.

**#36 - Sordid**  
When the news of their affair came out, Yamamoto-taichou had quite a few words for the two Tenth Division heads, including "sordid," "dishonorable," "unprofessional," and "damn, I lost a hundred betting against you two."

**#37 - Soliloquy**  
Never one to speak his mind _ever_, Hitsugaya lost his self-editing abilities when alcohol entered the picture and tended to spout elegantly-worded soliloquies, regardless of who was or was not listening; this lapse in censure led to him finally confess his undying devotion to Matsumoto as well as his secret worship of her finer assets.

**#38 - Sojourn**  
They knew their return to the Soul Society and their official roles would come soon enough, forcing themselves to forget these quiet kisses and gentle touches in the dark of Inoue's apartment, but until then they took complete advantage of every extra day they lingered in the living world.

**#39 - Share**  
Two weeks into their relationship Hitsugaya discovered he was, in fact, the jealous type, and that he strongly disliked the fact that no matter how close they were, he could never know Matsumoto quite like Haineko did.

**#40 - Solitary**  
The secret of how long Hitsugaya spent every morning doing his hair, trying to get that single, solitary hunk of bangs to fall just so, ended up being worth a week of nag-free naps during work hours to Matsumoto.

**#41 - Nowhere**  
They were getting absolutely nowhere until one day Rangiku brought home a kissing stool to help bridge the good-bye kiss-gap in the mornings.

**#42 - Neutral**  
"What's wrong with putting peanut butter, nature's most perfect neutral flavor, on my tuna sandwich?" Rangiku asked in response to Toushirou's look of sheer disgust/horror.

**#43 - Nuance**  
It didn't take a trained eye to notice the nuances, the little hints that the Tenth Division captains dropped, proving their devotion to each other; it did, on the other hand, take some skill and an ear for the right kind of gossip to realize they were attempting to screw each other into the next-next life and, by all accurate accounts, making quite a bit of headway towards this goal.

**#44 - Near**  
The particular smell of Rangiku's perfume, delicate and only noticed when she stood particularly close to him, helped among other reasons give rise to Toushirou's desire to keep her near.

**#45 - Natural**  
Whenever Hitsugaya over-heard his division members discussing the authenticity of Matsumoto's assets he smirked and kept his opinion to himself, proud that he and only he knew his woman was a complete natural.

**#46 - Horizon**  
New Year's morning they sat side-by-side, barely touching while their selfish arms wrapped only around themselves and a heavy silence hung around so thick it hid the twin wishes they sent towards the horizon and the rising sun.

**#47 - Valiant**  
Rangiku had a ritual on Sunday mornings: wake up Toushirou with lazy-weekend sleep-in sex, lie in bed a bit longer, finally rise and share a shower with him, have slightly-more-energetic shower-time sex, take a light brunch naked in the kitchen, and wait eagerly for Toushirou to finish with the funny papers and the week's new installment of "Prince Valiant."

**#48 - Virtuous**  
In the dictionary one can find Hitsugaya's picture under the word "virtuous" and Matsumoto under it's antonym; that juxtaposition, perhaps, defines their relationship better than any words or phrases ever could.

**#49 - Victory**  
Hitsugaya hated coming home wounded and saw every injury as a loss; to Matsumoto, any day he came home alive was a victory for certain.

**#50 - Defeat**  
Toushirou hated to admit defeat but after twenty straight loses it was obvious that "War," especially when played against Rangiku, wasn't his game; actual battle, on the other hand, he could handle easy-peasy, no sweat.

-fin-


	10. Coffee

**Title:** Coffee  
**Rating:** G  
**Warnings:** AU (future-fic,) very WAFF, and probably quite OOC  
**Pairing:** IchiHime  
**Summary:** Times change. Ichigo doesn't like change.

They hadn't seen each other in a long while.

He couldn't find any reason why they lost touch, why Orihime went so far away for school when Ichigo remained here in town. Almost everyone from high school stayed here; it was just that kind of place. It bothered him that she left, although he had no right to his annoyance, really.

It wasn't like he noticed her until she moved away.

Months into his first year, Ichigo noticed how quiet his life had become, but it took another year for him to figure out why. Orihime had always been there, all through the worst of their adolescence, a comfortable constant that he took for granted. If he was so dense that it took a year and a half to figure out he missed her, Ichigo reasoned, then maybe it wasn't a big deal if Orihime hung around or not.

At least, that was what he told himself.

The shop's bell jangled tunelessly as the door opened, letting inside both a cold draft and a customer. Looking from the magazine he hadn't been reading, Ichigo started at the gently smiling face, so much slimmer and prettier than he remembered it to be two years ago.

"Kurosaki-kun, how are you?" Orihime asked, bright as always, her cheeks glowing from the winter wind. Still, something was off in her smile. Something Ichigo didn't feel right about, and he didn't know why.

What were the odds that the subject of his thoughts would come in today, right when he had been thinking about her? Granted, he had been thinking about her a lot since he ran into Tatsuki last week. She hadn't mentioned Orihime's well-being, as if it was a subject too sore to talk about around Ichigo, and he couldn't find the right moment to ask. Still, it made old memories of their friend surface.

"Inoue? What are you doing in town?" he asked, immediately realizing how blunt and stupid he sounded.

"I came home for the break. Tatsuki-chan's having a big opening day celebration for her new dojo this weekend and I wouldn't miss it for the world."

"Ah, yeah, she mentioned that when I saw her the other day."

Quiet settled between the two in the empty shop. Avoiding his gaze, Orihime examined the menu above Ichigo's head with the utmost solemnity before announcing that she would like a coffee. As he moved to fill her order, Ichigo noticed out of the corner of his eye that Orihime had pulled a cigarette from her purse, lighting it up in an almost self-conscious fashion. Ichigo frowned; he never would have figured her to ever be a smoker and he didn't like it. Not because he was against smoking although he was, but because it was her.

"I'm sorry, Kurosaki-kun," she murmured, again not looking him in the eye. "It's a bad habit I picked up in school. If you'd like, I can put it out."

"No," he sighed, "it's no problem. The boss smokes like a fiend so I'm used to it."

"Sit with me while I drink this?" she asked, taking the full cup and saucer from him. "There's no one else to serve right now and you seem bored. Besides, I want to know what Kurosaki-kun's been up to while I've been away!"

A full smile, the kind she used to wear all the time, tried to make it across her face, but instead it looked hollow. A shadow of it's former glory. That's what bothered him about it; she seemed sadder, different. He nodded and grunted anyways, circling around the counter to sit at an empty table by the window. They took turns staring at each other when the other's attention was drawn outside.

"Why did you leave," Ichigo surprised himself, asking such a straight-forward question.

"Hmm?"

"Why did you go to college so far away? I thought you liked it here; all your friends are here."

_I'm here._

"Oh, I really liked the program at my school. It's very exciting! And I'm not so far away that I can't come for visits to see everyone."

"But you never visited me."

Ichigo couldn't believe it. Five minutes into the conversation and he was already making a complete fool of himself.

"You seemed so busy," she answered lightly, as if it didn't really bother her. "I didn't want to be a bother. Tatsuki-chan and Sado-kun always talked about you whenever I asked, though. Sometimes when I didn't, too."

They fell into silence again, uncomfortable and thick.

"Why didn't you try harder to keep Kuchiki-san by your side?"

"Why would I do that?" Ichigo scoffed, his tone rough to hide his shock at her abruptness.

"I'm sorry, it wasn't my place to ask. Ah, it looks like the snow is letting up. I'd best be going."

"Inoue..."

She stood, crushing her cigarette down in the ash try, and settled her bag more comfortably on her shoulder. She bowed and tried to smile again, turning to leave. Ichigo knew he needed to stop her from walking out; if she left now, he probably wouldn't see her again. He could just tell.

"Rukia never promised to be with me all the time. You did, I heard. I didn't think you were the kind of girl to break your promises."

Rude, and harsh, but it got her to stop.

"It's hard to keep them when the person you made them for doesn't care. You're a kind man, Kurosaki-kun, but sometimes you can be so cruel."

The door snapped shut behind her, the bells discordant in Ichigo's ears; they were mocking him and he hated being teased so meanly. Pushing himself up and away from the table, he ran outside.

"Come with me to Tatsuki's opening on Friday," he huffed, his breath a cloud that stung his eyes. The chill bit into his cheeks, his hands, any bit of bare flesh, as he waited for her reply. They stood like that, further apart than they had ever been, with only five feet between them. At last, Orihime nodded, looking him in the eyes for the first time since the sudden reunion began.

"I promise," she answered.

And Orihime smiled.

-fin-


	11. OneishLiners

**AN: **Err... So these aren't really drabbles/ficlets, just a bunch of oneish-liners. Anyways, Enjoy!

* * *

**Title: **Names  
**Rating:** G  
**Characters:** Ichigo, Orihime

When he asked her why she named her inanimate objects, especially the electronic ones, she laughed and answered in a _well, duh_ sort of voice.

"When you're cussing someone out, its _much _more satisfying if you can call them by name."

-fin-

* * *

**Title:** Touch  
**Rating:** PG-13  
**Pairing:** HitsuMatsu 

It took him long enough to come around, but Rangiku was glad when he finally did; it took years of smothering her taichou between her assets before he responded.

With lips.

And teeth.

And damn, what a tongue.

Genius indeed.

-fin-

* * *

**Title: **Savannah  
**Rating:** G  
**Character: **Ichigo

Ichigo decided he hated America on his third trip there; for whatever reason they headed way damn south, to a city with baby-child buildings everyone praised as ancient gods, accents so thick his dismal English education failed him, and ghosts crammed in virtually every nook and cranny and alley-way.

Working vacations were always the worst.

-fin-

* * *

**Title:** Critic  
**Rating:** G  
**Characters:** Ichigo, with a guest appearance from my favorite Sandman character  
**AN:** Cross-over ficlet with Neil Gaiman's _Sandman_

Ichigo stared at the woman, a poster child for Goth and all things sexual-yet-sweet, who currently held a quiet conversation with the little ghost girl he needed to clense. Noticing his arrival, the woman looked up and smiled.

"Oh, sorry Didn't realize this one was yours."

Grumbling some half-assed response, Ichigo tapped the spirit lightly on the forehead with the hilt of his sword, watching as the girl disappeared slowly, heading towards the Soul Society and her next life.

"Well done, if a bit showy," the woman nodded, watching over his shoulder. "Did you really have to do that whole bit with the sword?"

Ichigo felt his eye twitch.

Everyone's a critic.

-fin-

* * *

**Title:** Obsession  
**Rating:** G  
**Characters:** Ichigo, Renji, Urahara, with cameos from my two favorite masked men: Kakashi from _Naruto_ and Magatsu Tai-Tai from _Blade of the Immortal_.

"Seriously, though," Renji argued, pointing from one book to the other, "check it out. Mask over the bottom half of the face, mask over the bottom half of the face. Crazy, spiky hair, crazy, spiky hair."

Then he reached over, pulling out another volume from the huge pile behind him. Ichigo could only stare and wonder exactly how much sleep the poor guy had gotten over the past couple of days.

"And look! When Kakashi was a kid he carried around a big sword If you squint, it looks kinda like Magatsu's, don't you think? Do you think they're related or something? Maybe they were separated at birth, their identities changed, and the whole thing hushed up..."

Ichigo turned on heels and walked out, leaving the man to his rantings and ravings. On the way out of the store, Ichigo kicked a napping Urahara, effectively waking him.

"If you _ever_ let Renji read your over-stock of manga again," Ichigo snarled, "I _will_ kill you."

-fin-

* * *

**Title:** Cool  
**Rating:** G  
**Character:** Orihime

"Uwaaaah... Cool..." Orihime exclaimed, staring wide-eyed at the huge communication device that took Hitsugaya all morning to install in her apartment. "Does it get cable?"

-fin- 


	12. Nudge

**Title:** Nudge  
**Fandom:** Bleach  
**Characters/Pairings:** IchiHime, Chad, random OC of minor consequence  
**Rating:** PG-7 for minor foul-mouthery  
**Warnings:** AU future fic, WAFFness, OOCness, blink-and-you'll-miss-it reference to Papa Kurosaki's past, probably needs edits like whoa  
**Summary:** Sometimes all you need is a nudge.  
**AN:** This little plot-bunny came to me after seeing some random doodles of Ichigo and Orihime dressed as shinigami captains can't remember where I saw them, though. > What can I say, I love this pairing any way I can get it.

* * *

Kurosaki-taichou hated these official events. Not only did they bore him to tears, attending one also meant socializing with his fellow captains. 

And _that_ meant he would inevitably find himself cornered into a conversation by Inoue-taichou.

Now, it wasn't that Ichigo hated the woman, because he didn't. Far from it, although he would never say that out loud. There was just something about her that bothered him. She reminded him of someone but, no matter how long or hard Ichigo thought about it, all he ended up with was a headache and a waste of his precious time. It pissed him off to no end, so logically at least to himself he took out his frustrations on Inoue-taichou, the poor woman innocent of her role in his troubles.

The bullying and gruff behavior didn't seemed to shake her, nor did it get him to stop attempting the impossible recall. Ichigo never did have a good mind for names or faces. Hell, he couldn't even name half of his own division's seated shinigami and he didn't lose sleep over it. Not like this.

Maybe it was the way Inoue-taichou looked at him, as if she expected him to know something really, really important but was too sweet to say anything about it.

Ichigo hated people who didn't speak up for themselves.

"Kurosaki-taichou! You're looking quite well this evening! Wasn't it a lovely induction ceremony? I think they really out-did themselves this year!"

Ichigo winced at the excessive exclamation-point abuse.

"Inoue-taichou," he greeted, keeping his annoyance in check.

"I can't believe Sado-kun finally made it! Between you and me," Inoue-taichou's voice dropped and she leaned in close, forcing Ichigo to take a step back, "I couldn't believe he even enrolled; as strong as Sado-kun is, he's such a pacifist."

"Sado...-kun?"

"You know, tall, dark and handsome, hanging out awkwardly by the punch over there?" Inoue-taichou pointed and waved; the captains received a small wave back, but the new shinigami didn't seem eager to budge from his spot. Ichigo eyed him for a moment and frowned. That guy was looking at him the same way Inoue-taichou did, and he found it irritating.

"I see he's one of yours. Not a typical Fourth Division member, is he?" he answered, keeping his voice level and disinterested.

"Yup I actually requested to have him placed under you, but Sado-kun insisted against it. Probably because you..." Inoue-taichou trailed off, her smile wavering for a second.

"Probably because I, what?"

"How long have you been here, Kurosaki-taichou?" she asked, changing the topic suddenly.

"Eh... About four, five hundred years, give or take. You lose track after a while."

Inoue-taichou nodded, her face taking on a look of extreme concentration. It was kind of endearing, how you could hear the gears turning. They stood, silent for a few moments, before Ichigo decided he'd best make the rounds. Anything to get away from what turned out to be a more uncomfortable conversation than usual, even it meant _shudder_ making small talk. As he walked away, he heard Inoue-taichou murmur something, causing him to stop.

"What was that?" he asked. Not that he really wanted to know. He just couldn't stop himself from asking.

"Memories are funny things aren't they, Kurosaki-kun. Some people lose them after too long and others just can't let go, can they?"

"I guess..." The -kun threw him, but Ichigo didn't correct her for some reason. Usually he was such a stickler for formalities. At least, ones directed at him.

The smile returned to Inoue-taichou's face and, oddly, he felt relieved.

"Go congratulate your new ranks, Taichou. They've been cowering over there, looking scared to death of you."

Following her pointing finger, Ichigo finally noticed the cluster of shinigami, recently sworn in and nervous to approach their intimidating captain. Turning back to bid Inoue-taichou farewell, Ichigo found she has already disappeared into the crowd.

* * *

Standing outside the Fourth Division gate, Ichigo took his usual moment to steel himself for a meeting with Inoue-taichou. He had only stopped by to check on a few of his men who got injured in a particularly nasty hollow hunt, but every time he visited the healing wards it turned into tea with the captain. 

He felt like he was fifteen again whenever he came here, unable to say anything intelligent around Inoue-taichou.

They hadn't run into each other since the induction ceremony over a month ago but he couldn't get her odd parting comments out of his head. The damn woman was going to come clean about what exactly she meant over tea but hopefully not snacks, considering how odd Inoue-taichou's tastes were, if he had anything to say about it.

What right did she have to muddle him up and make him all nervous and, well, _juvenile_? He was a grown man, dammit, and a captain to boot.

"Kurosaki... -taichou."

The quiet, deep greeting drew Ichigo out of his thoughts and he found himself face-to-face with that hulking new recruit that Inoue-taichou pointed out at the ceremony. What was his name again? Thankful that Inoue-taichou had all of her novices wear name badges, he squinted rather obviously at it before responding.

"Hey... Chad."

"Sado."

"Whatever. Is your captain in? I'm here to check on some of my guys."

The shinigami nodded, setting aside his broom that looked three sizes too small for his big frame, and led Ichigo into the building. Remembering something else Inoue-taichou had mentioned at the ceremony, his curiosity got the best of him and Ichigo broke the silence.

"Chad, why didn't you want to be placed in my division?"

"It's Sado..." he trailed off. Ichigo waited for him to continue, frustrated by this guy's slowness. "... and no reason."

"There has to be a reason. You don't go against a captain's recommendation because you just feel like it," Ichigo snarked.

"... Inoue... -taichou's in here."

"Ah, thanks," he started, realizing that they had reached their destination without him noticing it.

That guy was odd, to say the least. He must be fresh from Rukongai, having that much trouble tacking on titles behind his superior's names; Ichigo was the same way when he first joined up. Still, this Chad guy didn't seem to be a bad sort. He looked to be the type to have your back in a fight, no matter what.

Dismissing his odd thoughts, Ichigo stepped into Inoue-taichou's office, waving off Chad's shallow bow and steadying himself for the loud greeting that was sure to come any time now. When it didn't Ichigo relaxed, if only slightly, and looked around, finally noticing that Inoue-taichou wasn't anywhere in sight.

"Ch.. That bastard lied," he grumbled.

Shifting back and forth for a moment, Ichigo realized he had never been in Inoue-taichou's office without her before. Antsy, he wandered about, looking at the bright decorations that covered her walls; he hardly noticed their existence in the past, what with Inoue-taichou monopolizing his attention.

Dozens of crayon drawings hung on one wall, obviously the handy-work of children. He remembered hearing about Inoue-taichou starting a new out-reach program, setting up free clinics in all of the Rukongai districts; somehow she had sweet-talked the heads of Soul Society to up her numbers so that each was constantly manned in rotating shifts, giving care to any who walked in their doors. Every Fourth Division member, from the novices to the seated positions, spent a month at one of the clinics at a time. Ichigo also heard that Inoue-taichou also served clinic duty, despite her status. These drawings, so many of them with a malformed manifestation of the red-headed captain, her big smile and assets prominent in each picture, must have been thank you notes from the younger clinic patients.

_Huh... Inoue-taichou really was something, wasn't she?_

Despite the woman's absence, Ichigo blushed at the thought.

Knowing he shouldn't but still unable to stop himself, Ichigo continued around the room, passing over all the photos of different division members and other shinigami that filled up much of the remaining space. The ones of handsome men, some of whom he was pretty sure served under him, made him frown. Same with the six or seven ostentatious bouquets that sat on her desk, each one spilling out of their vases and sporting little white cards tucked in amongst the blooms.

He never realized just how many suitors Inoue-taichou had before and it irked him. He wasn't sure what annoyed him most, the fact that he didn't realize that she was so sought-after or that she _was_ so desirable, but it bugged the shit out of him.

Again, he couldn't resist the urge to snoop. Plucking up one of the cards, Ichigo scanned it and growled, his blush deepening. No one should write something like that on something that could so easily be read by someone else! It was scandalous! It was improper! It was...

A noise in the hall made Ichigo jump and he dropped the note. It fluttered underneath the bookshelf behind Inoue-taichou's desk but he didn't move to find it just yet, waiting to see if it was Inoue-taichou or not. Several breathless seconds passed before he realized it wasn't her.

All this time here and he still couldn't sense reiatsu to save his life or his dignity.

Dropping to his hands and knees, he grasped in the dusty darkness, trying to find the escaped piece of paper. At last his fingers found what they sought and he slid it out, moving to stand up and quickly return it to its proper place. Unaware of his position, Ichigo knocked his head on the underside of a shelf on his way up in his haste. To add insult to his throbbing injury and not to mention _more_ injury to injury, a book toppled from its precarious location and landed square on his already aching skull.

Scrambling up and cursing the entire way, he hastily stuck the card back in it's proper place and bent to grab the book to do the same. Apparently a photo album, it had fallen open on the floor. The pictures were old, faded and yellow, brittle in their plastic slips. They were obviously from the living world and an odd thing for a Soul Society captain to keep in her office. Gently, Ichigo picked it up and started at what he saw.

He saw himself.

And Inoue-taichou.

And that Chad guy.

All together with others he didn't recognize, looking so very young and happy. Well, he didn't look too happy, and you really couldn't tell with Chad, but considering the fact that they had him sandwiched between them, Inoue-taichou obviously laughing so hard the camera caught shiny tear-tracks on her cheeks, he could only assume they were happy too.

Flipping through the pages, he watched as the years passed and they all grew up. So much life filled these pages, and more familiar faces appeared: Rukia, Renji, Ikkaku, Yumichika, Hat-and-Sandals Urahara, Yoruichi, and oddly enough, the infamous exile Isshin. Despite his confusion, Ichigo felt the beginning sting of jealousy. He hated his self that had all this. He hated...

Shock stayed his hand, the pages settling open to a large photo of a beautiful woman in a dazzling kimono, her new husband at her side in a Western-style tuxedo who, despite his usual glare, couldn't keep excitement and love from his eyes.

A wedding photo, there was no doubt about it. There was also no doubt about the identities of the bride and groom.

Almost dropping the book, Ichigo forced himself to go on, finding photos of a radiant and extremely pregnant Inoue-taichou with him at her side looking oh so proud, if not a little nervous. Then there Ichigo stood with a young boy on his shoulders, then the boy older with a baby in his small arms, then the brother and sister as they grew up under the adoring eyes of their father and mother.

His eyes.

Inoue-taichou's eyes.

"Kurosaki-taichou What amazing timing I was just... Oh dear."

This time Ichigo did drop the book. Hurrying over from the doorway, Inoue-taichou scooped up the album and shoved it in a desk drawer, her face burning red and tears threatening to poor over her lower lids. She flustered about, trying to distract him with talk of tea and how she apologized for being so late, how she had so much to finish up before she left on clinic rotation, and so on and so on. Ichigo stood silent in the middle of her desperate antics before he had enough and grabbed her arm, trying to get her to stop.

Inoue-taichou winced and he loosened his grip, but she refused to meet his eyes. The tears had broken free, that much he could tell despite her bowed head. He pulled out his handkerchief, his hands shaking, and he handed it too her. She took it and dried her tears, her hand clenching so tight around it that her knuckles turned as white as the cloth.

"You weren't supposed to see that," she murmured around deep breathes, obviously trying to calm herself down.

"Inoue-taichou..."

"I... I think you'd better leave, Kurosaki-taichou. I have much to do before my month on rotation. If you'd like to visit your men, they're in the usual wing."

Frowning but not knowing what to say, Ichigo left.

* * *

"Inoue-taichou, we need your help up front, please Some guy just came in here dragging along five badly beaten men!" 

"I'll be there in a moment Kana-kun," Orihime answered, not even looking up from her task of setting and healing a little boy's broken arm. Finishing up, she smiled and ruffled his hair.

"Be more careful next time, little one. You can hardly stand against a cart and horse, now can you?" she said with a smile as she ushered him out to his mother. Wiping her brow Orihime paused, realizing just whose handkerchief she had pulled out to soak up her sweat. It was silly that she still had it and even sillier that she had it on her, but it couldn't be helped.

Orihime would be the first to admit that she was quite a silly girl.

Then it struck her. Ichigo was here; she could feel his energy oozing all over the place. The man never did rein himself in. Eyes widening, she whirled to see a bloody but grinning Ichigo in the doorway.

"I went through hell to get here and I don't even get a hello?"

"I'm sorry Inoue-taichou!" exclaimed the little shinigami named Kana as she tried to pull Ichigo back out of the room. "He just pushed his way in here saying he had to see his wife, and I couldn't stop him."

His wife? Oh dear, she could feel the tears coming again.

"It's alright, Kana-kun. It's just the adrenaline talking; he's always a little odd after a fight," she smiled, screwing on her captain face again. Turning to Ichigo, she couldn't help but smile, even if it was a bit empty. "You're the one responsible for those new patients aren't you, Kurosaki-taichou?"

Ichigo laughed and pulled free of Kana's grasped, slumping into a chair with a great _oof_.

"Those punks tried to mug me. I was just defending myself," he answered, his tone lighter than Orihime had heard in a long time.

"Please see to the men Kurosaki-taichou was so kind to escort here, Kana-kun," she ordered the confused girl. Bowing, Kana eyed the odd pair until she was out of sight.

"Damn," Ichigo hissed, trying to work the kinks out of his shoulder, "those bastards gave me a good work out. It's been a while since I had to fight with my fists; I must be getting rusty in my old age."

"Kurosaki-taichou..."

"Cut that out, Orihime," Ichigo interrupted, switching so quickly to seriousness she felt her head spin. "I remember now, and on my own too. It's been a real shitty couple of weeks for me, but I can only imagine how hard these past few centuries have been for you."

"Ichigo..."

"Why didn't you ever tell me?" he asked, staring her dead in the eyes. She couldn't hold his gaze and had to look away.

"I figured if you let the memories of life slip away, then you didn't really want them in the first place," she answered, her voice mouse-tiny and almost too soft for him to hear.

"I was alone for three hundred years in Rukongai, struggling to hold out in this wasteland. That kind of life forces anything but one moment of survival to the next out of your mind. All I needed was a nudge... And after these few weeks I realize how much I needed that nudge."

Ichigo stood, trying to hide his limp as he approached her.

"Orihime..." he began.

"Let me look at your leg," she interrupted. "It looks like its bothering you."

"It's fine," Ichigo snorted, "but... are you?"

"I... I missed you," she answered and then slapped a hand over her mouth, realizing how out of bounds she had wandered. "I'm sorry, its not fair to force my feelings on you. I just..."

Gentle and more than a little awkward, Ichigo reached out and wrapped his large hands around hers, his handkerchief still clutched so tight in her fingers. It felt like the first time he took her hands all those years ago, when he didn't know how to do what he wanted to do so badly.

"Me too," he murmured, his voice cracking slightly. Orihime could have genuinely laughed at the blush and scowl that followed, but she remained quiet. "Have for a long time, I just didn't know what the hell I was missing."

Leaning in close, Orihime reveled in Ichigo's smell, Ichigo's touch. It had been so long that she never thought she'd be in this place again. Orihime tilted her head up and kissed his cheek, the touch so barely-there, so tentative, that even she could barely feel it. Then she pulled away, drawing her hands from his loose grip.

"We have new lives now," she almost-whispered, unable to look at him. "Its not like we can just pick up where we left off. I can't ask you to give up anything that you might have now. I just... I just want you to know that I still love you. And Chad misses you, too."

She tried to smile, wanted to laugh and lighten the mood, but fear kept her from doing either. She was so afraid that even though they were this close, they would still fall away from each other again. Ichigo laughed for her and Orihime found she could meet his eyes.

"My back's been too open without Chad to watch over it," he chuckled, shaking his head, "but besides that, I could say the same to you. What with all those pictures and those flowers with raunchy love notes stuck in them..."

"You read one of my notes?" she asked, scandalized, although not nearly as much as when she saw some of the things men had the gall to write to a lady.

"Well... Er... I... You didn't respond to that dickweed, did you?"

"Didn't I just tell you I love you?" she giggled, amused by his red face and open jealousy.

"Yeah, but it hardly seems likely, you waiting for an idiot like me to come around."

Smiling bright and full, the first time in a long while, Orihime leaned in for another kiss. Ichigo didn't pull away, returning the sweet press of lips to lips.

"For you," she whispered, "I could wait forever."

-fin-


	13. Anxious

**Title:** Anxious  
**Fandom:** Bleach  
**Pairing:** IchiHime  
**Rating:** G, unless pregnancy truths squick you hard-core  
**Warnings:** AU future fic, WAFFness, and OOCness  
**Summary:** Babies are weird.  
**AN:** Answer to a request by **kumagorousagi** for an IchiHime fic with babies. Short, odd, and probably not satisfying, but I tried. I tired + distracted by real life. > And yes, the phenomenon mentioned in the fic is a real, creepy, and quite disturbing occurrence during the last trimester of pregnancy.

* * *

"It's like that one movie, you know, _Alien_," Orihime grinned excitedly, holding up her shirt so her belly showed. "Wait for it!"

Ichigo stared at his wife, a mixture of amusement and slight horror crossing his face. Eight-months-and-then-some pregnant and Orihime still had the energy to get excited over weird things.

They were sitting on the couch, watching television, when Orihime turned to him during a commercial break to tell him her newest discovery of the day. As much as he loved her ever-rounding belly, often touching it reverently throughout their day, he felt a little disturbed.

Ichigo wasn't sure he wanted to see anything that reminded him of that awful American horror film. Known to very few, Ichigo hated horror films and spent the entirety of one curled up and hiding his eyes behind knees and hands. Still, because Orihime insisted, he watched her belly as instructed.

Then the baby moved, pressing a tiny hand against the womb's outer wall, the small outline distending Orihime's stomach in a less-than-comforting way. Ichigo blanched and Orihime giggled.

She was right, it was exactly like that damn movie.

Now, more than ever, Ichigo couldn't wait for the child to be born.

-fin- 


End file.
